


Prisoner of War

by cowboycruncher



Series: Valdonia: Realm of Mages [7]
Category: Original Work, Valdonia: Realm of Mages
Genre: F/M, Happy Ending, Mental Anguish, Neglect, Prisoner of War, War Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:20:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27812908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboycruncher/pseuds/cowboycruncher
Summary: Breath coming out raggedly, he waited, tense and afraid of the gleaming sword that was poised at the hip of the grandiose stallion master’s hip.Finally, the cloak was pulled back, and the mask dropped, revealing plush lips and long, blonde hair. Eveere looked into the blue eyes of his wife, unsure if this was some sick dream concocted by his mind or if he really was receiving the blessing of an angel. “A-Angie…?”
Relationships: Angela Nahalevér/Eveere De Bellis
Series: Valdonia: Realm of Mages [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1934920
Kudos: 2





	Prisoner of War

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Noah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noah/gifts).



Eveere shifted, the feeling in his fingertips having faded for some time now. The constraints that held him in place would not budge - he had tried many a time already to shake them - and there was no use in attempting to fight it. Elderly, caked mud mixed with the fresh, vile substance on his boots and pants, a stench permeating from him that would not abate. Sleep had avoided him for days, perhaps even weeks; he was lethargic and wanton with dehydration, starvation, and lack of sleep. Where they had taken Ezio, he knew not, and every time he attempted to figure out the location of his brother, either nothing came back or he was subject to being beaten. In his heart he still yearned to know, but in bodice, he had given up - given up on everything. Thoughts of his wife and children once so clear to him were fogged over, he was empty. 

Swallowing against his dry, aching throat, he leaned his head back against the post he had been tied to, staring up at the nighttime stars above, wondering if the gods could see him from their airborne palace. Would they have mercy on him, or would he die like vermin just as everyone else in this damned war did? It had taken so much from the continent - families lost, children dead, money, lives, materials, all of it was being destroyed. Eveere had never considered himself a considerably culturally conscious man, but in all the long months he had been abandoned in this fight, he knew that simple fact to be true. 

The north was cold, he had come to realize. Fires were lit around the fort with soldiers huddled around them, but he was not close enough to feel their warmth. Looking at the man next to him, he peered at a face he did not recognize. Where was Thallaus Megarik? Probably in some palace while his pawns sat and rot in camps like this, Eveere thought bitterly, turning away from the near-corpse that lay tied next to him. Horrors had poisoned him, he knew that, but there was nothing that could be done anymore. When you hold a man’s guts in one hand, and his body in the other, it changes you. 

“Where you from?”

The question startled him. Eveere looked back at the breathless figure beside him, who he realized had been the one to speak. Finding his voice - shaky as it was, broken and bloody - he replied, terrorized by the knowledge that he did not even recognize the timbre of his own tone. “Candir.” 

“Same. Know where we are?”

Eveere merely scoffed back at him and leaned back, once again peering at the stars, of which he found more appealing than this conversation. “Does it matter?”

“Guess not.”

The lines of the many night shadows, the smoke rising from the bonfires and the great walls of the large fort began to blend, morphing into a blur. Eveere blinked, attempting to clear his eyes, but to no avail. Every time he opened them again, he was faced with cloudy vision. There were many times that one may feel weak in their lives, but this was deeper. It was more than just broken bones and deep gashes to add to his collection. It was spiritual, he had had to come to terms with feeling his magical abilities seep from his very core until there was nothing left to be a part of him; he tried to comfort himself with knowing his family was safe somewhere, but then, he had no idea if Ezio was even still alive - and he doubted it, he didn’t want to doubt it, of course. War was sobering above all else, he had seen so much death - caused so much death, if he were the North, killing Ezio would only make sense. In fact, he was surprised that his own life still lingered, and in many aspects, he wished that it didn’t. 

Whether he was slipping into peace or going to sleep, he was unsure, but he suddenly felt as if he were falling. Like a dream, almost. Nothing to hold on to, just darkness and the sensation of knowing no bottom, seeing no end, just himself, his ensnarement, and all of the abyss the world had to offer in between when-

Shouting. Screams. A horn blowing.

Eveere jolted out of his unconsciousness, looking around as soldiers ran frantically. Some to the gate, some to grab their weapons. There must be an attack going on, curiously he craned his neck up to look at the guard tower above him, the one that manned the front. They had - like every other night - sealed the fort up tightly, which was a strategic move and one he could not deny understanding, so why panic? The gate was made of reinforced metal, nothing would get through it. Snow had begun to come down, restricting how much he could see and doing nothing to keep the ends of his extremities from freezing. The man next to him seemed equally as confused as him, they took turns making wary eye contact with each other and trying to gather what was happening around them. 

It was then that he was able to discern it above the sounds of the yelling Northern soldiers. Hooves. An army was approaching, which only heightened his confusion. Upon arrival, they had been told that they were far and beyond away from the frontline and their hopes of rescue were naught. Perhaps, then, it was another attacking force unrelated to the war? That did not provide him any comfort. Energy began to flow through him like it had not for some time, he yanked against his restraints, twisting his wrists as means of snapping the rope, but it only sent shocking pain up his weakened arms. 

A loud cacophony suddenly rang out around the fort’s camp. The gate. Eveere looked sharply to his right. The fort was built in a square formation, with the posts where prisoners were tied being in the front right corner should you be standing, facing the front gate, from the back of the fort. There were a few buildings that went above and underground, with a stable and storage houses all containing northern materials. Perhaps that was what they were there for, but supplies were dwindling with the winter pressing hard against the military’s efforts to survive. There was only one - obvious - way in and out of the fort, and that was the very front gate.

The gate split, then, parted down the middle by someone with a rare gift to mould metal with their hands. An uncommon ability. The clang of war igniting was not new to his ears, and Eveere almost flinched away from it. Bones cracking, flesh tearing, the sound of horses and men in pain - but his curiosity kept his eyes open. Finally, their opposition crashed through and fully breached the fort, spearing, smouldering, and cutting down the soldiers that stood in their way. Fireballs and arrows flew from the horseback soldiers as they rushed in, golden armor and red cloaks glimmering in the light of the elements. Even through the snow, Eveere could see it. 

“What’s going on?” The soldier next to him asked, sounding almost afraid. This was not the southern forces, it was someone else entirely just as Eveere had guessed. Squinting, he attempted to make out the proud emblem carved into the armor and flags of their (hopefully) rescuers, he peered at a nearby soldier, doing his best to make out the shapes against the fog of snow annoyingly sheltering his line of sight. It was then that an enormous golden horse blocked his path, its coat seemingly ethereal, and its masked rider dismounting. Concerned and slightly afraid, he looked up at them, convinced he would be facing his execution as his eyes drew over the cloaked figure.

They were clad unlike the rest who sported predominantly gold - their armor was a mixture of maroon and dark greys, hidden almost entirely by a long cloak. Eveere blinked, unsure what to make of it as he pressed up against the post to try and retreat from them as they crouched in front of him almost condescendingly. For a moment, nothing happened - the cloak hid the rider’s face, and a mask covered up any other details of features he would otherwise try and look for. Breath coming out raggedly, he waited, tense and afraid of the gleaming sword that was poised at the hip of the grandiose stallion master’s hip.

Finally, the cloak was pulled back, and the mask dropped, revealing plush lips and long, blonde hair. Eveere looked into the blue eyes of his wife, unsure if this was some sick dream concocted by his mind or if he really was receiving the blessing of an angel. “A-Angie…?”

Angela said nothing, but he could tell she was ready to cry. It shattered his heart, which had suddenly come back together after months of torment. “Hello, darling,” she murmured back. A smile split his face almost instantly - it didn’t matter if this was a dream, if it was a last fantasy, then he would be no happier than to die with her fresh in his mind. Angela leaned forward, then, and slipped a dagger from the slit in her glove to cut him free of his ropes. The other prisoners were being seen to by her soldiers, he worried not for them. If the Nahalevér bloodline was here to save them, then they were in the best hands they could be.

Angela slipped her hands around him, helping her husband to his feet - he staggered, holding fast to her as he could not recall the last time he had properly utilized his legs. Once again, her strength never failed to impress him as she held him upright, unfazed by how dirty and disgusting he had become from sitting in mud and shit for so long. Gingerly, she walked him to her horse’s saddle, whistling at him to bow before her so Eveere could unceremoniously clamor onto his back. When the horse straightened up, Angela vaulted into place behind him, snuggly caging Eveere between her arms. Perhaps she was worried he would fall off if she didn’t, and that was entirely possible; he leaned back into the comfort of her sturdy figure behind him and let her steer them out of the fort for a destination he - for once in seemingly forever - did not mind not knowing.

ఌ

A warm bath, plenty of food, and a soft bed could do a man wonders. They were still well into the north, and it was cold in the Nahalevér camp, but the wolfskin blankets were persistent in convincing him that he was back in the warm sand and soil of Candir. Despite being exhausted, sleep escaped him, even with his wife’s soft heartbeat warm and welcoming against his ear; her arms around him, brushing through his hair, rubbing at his back - it was almost enough to push the terrors away, but he feared what would come to him with sleep. Angela must have known, for she patiently and lovingly continued her ministrations while his thoughts ran rampant and unorganized through his mind.

“I will never let anyone hurt you ever again, Eveere,” she said quietly, her voice the only thing interrupting the dimly lit tent’s silence. Another smile pulled at his lips because he knew she meant it, she never said anything he could not promise. Sliding his hand around her abdomen, he pulled her in closer and twined his fingers within her silky nightshirt, as if to ensure that she was, in fact, real. When he looked up at her, he found her gaze to be lingering upon him, and he smiled again - she had always looked at him like he meant so much, despite it not being true. At least, not in his eyes. 

Inching up, he found her lips for a kiss. Their first since having parted for the war all those months ago. When he pulled back, he noticed that she had finally allowed herself to cry, and his face dropped. “What’s wrong?” 

“Everything and nothing,” she laughed back, leaning her head back against their pillow as she wiped at her cheeks. “I thought you were dead. I’m having a hard time believing you aren’t just a figment of my overactive imagination still.”

Eveere moved her hands away, and pressed the pads of his thumbs against the corners of her eyes where her tears had begun to pool. “I feel the same way, actually,” he said, laughing a bit himself. “How did you know it was me? I was covered in-” he made a face, “yucky stuff.”

Angela shook her head at him, flicking his forehead (to which he exclaimed “ow!” at). “I would recognize you inside out, upside down, wearing a jester’s costume if it so came to it, you idiot boy.” With that, she put her arms around his shoulders and pulled him in close - well, closer, that was. 

Eveere merely laughed - again - and rested his head back down upon her chest, enjoying the sound of her heartbeat too much to let it go for long. “The kids. Are they okay? How is Cynzia?”

“Both are fine, dear. They love being around Auntie Cyn, they get to eat dessert first.” Angela remarked snidely, no doubt aggravated by Cynzia’s lack of parental propriety. “Allegra misses you more than anything in the world, she mopes around the house most days. I can’t say I was much better for the wear.” Both implications made his heart feel sudden pangs of regret and sadness, and he heaved a sigh, idly playing with the pattern of lace that accented her nightshirt. It was one he recognized from home. “They’ll be happy to know you’re on your way home, both of them.” 

“I don’t know… what happened to Ezio,” Eveere admitted, shutting his eyes as he drew in a sharp breath. “They separated us when we were captured. I don’t know where they took him… if he’s still alive…”

“We’ll find him. I’m not marching my men out of here until our family is back together, honey.”

“Speaking of which, where did all this come from? Last time I checked, we didn’t own a militia.” It was mostly teasing, his cheeks crinkled as she tugged on his hair.

“My father owns many militias. But many of the people that are part of this mission are my family members. The Nahalevér trade empire has a lot more money stowed away for things like this than you realize. And a lot more eyes.”

“You never told me.” It came out kind of whiney, and she tugged on his hair again to make him pay for being indignant. It only made him snicker again.

“It was never applicable before now.” Angela remarked, busying her hands with the strands of his dark locks once again. Warmth had spread comfortably to each of his limbs as he allowed her love to chase away his demons, to right all his wrongs, to stamp out his woes and remind him of who he was. For so long he had been just a body, but he was a brother, a father, and a husband and that was something he had had to let go of. “Rest. I’ll answer the questions you still have in the morning, darling. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he whispered back, doing as she asked of him and shutting his eyes. For the first time in a long time, he was able to sleep in the comfort of her cradling embrace, safe in their bed with only people who cared for him surrounding him.

**Author's Note:**

> Want to learn more about the universe where these characters are from? Check out the Discord server - to join, just shoot me a message @ cowboycruncher#7497.


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